CHILDREN'S  BOOK 
COLLECTION 

* 

LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


(52 


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>«     H,»  ^  ^^ 


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THE 

S  1ST  O  "W-IM  AGE: 

A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 

BY 

NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE. 

S&itlj  Illustrations  bjj  Patens  SSlaterman. 


NEW  YORK: 
JAMES  G.  GREGORY,  540,  BROADWAY. 

M  DCCC  LXIV. 


O.    A..    AJ.VOKU,    STF.RKOTYPKR   4    PRINTER,    NEW   YORK. 


t    jiiifllu-f  map: 

A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


NE   afternoon   of  a  cold  winter's   day,  when  the 


sun  shone  forth  with  chilly  brightness,  after  a 
s-«'  long  storm,  two  children  asked  leave  of  their 
i v  mother  to  run  out  and  play  in  the  new-fallen 
x  snow.  The  elder  child  was  a  little  girl,  whom, 
because  she  was  of  a  tender  and  modest  disposition, 
and  was  thought  to  be  very  beautiful,  her  parents,  and 
other  people  who  were  familiar  with  her,  used  to  call 
Yiolet.  But  her  brother  was  known  by  the  style  and 
title  of  Peony,  on  account  of  the  ruddiness  of  his  broad 
and  round  little  phiz,  which  made  everybody  think  of 
sunshine  and  great  scarlet  flowers.  The  father  of  these 
two  children,  a  certain  Mr.  Lindsey,  it  is  important  to 
say,  was  an  excellent,  but  exceedingly  matter-of-fact  sort 
of  man,  a  dealer  in  hardware,  and  was  sturdily  accustomed 


THE  SNOW-IMAGE: 

to  take  what  is  called  the  common-sense  view  of  all  matters 
that  came  under  his  consideration.  With  a  heart  about 
as  tender  as  other  people's,  he  had  a  head  as  hard  and  im- 
penetrable, and  therefore,  perhaps,  as  empty,  as  one  of  the 
iron  pots  which  it  was  a  part  of  his  business  to  sell.  The 
mother's  character,  on  the  other  hand,  had  a  strain  of 
poetry  in  it,  a  trait  of  unworldly  beauty — a  delicate  and 
dewy  flower,  as  it  were,  that  had  survived  out  of  her 
imaginative  youth,  and  still  kept  itself  alive  amid  the 
dusty  realities  of  matrimony  and  motherhood. 

So,  Violet  and  Peony,  as  I  began  with  saying,  besought 
their  mother  to  let  them  run  out  and  play  in  the  new 
snow ;  for,  though  it  had  looked  so  dreary  and  dismal, 
drifting  downward  out  of  the  gray  sky,  it  had  a  very 
cheerful  aspect,  now  that  the  sun  was  shining  on  it.  The 
children  dwelt  in  a  city,  and  had  no  wider  play-place  than 
a  little  garden  before  the  house,  divided  by  a  white  fence 
from  the  street,  and  with  a  pear-tree  and  two  or  three 
plum-trees  overshadowing  it,  and  some  rose-bushes  just 
in  front  of  the  parlor  windows.  The  trees  and  shrubs, 
however,  were  now  leafless,  and  their  twigs  were  enveloped 
in  the  light  snow,  which  thus  made  a  kind  of  wintry 
foliage,  with  here  and  there  a  pendent  icicle  for  the 
fruit. 

4 


A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


"Yes,  Violet, — yes,  my  little  Peony,"  said  their  kind 
mother ;  "  you  may  go  out  and  play  in  the  new  snow." 

Accordingly,  the  good  lady  bundled  up  her  darlings  in 
woollen  jackets  and  wadded  sacks,  and  put  comforters 
round  their  necks,  and  a  pair  of  striped  gaiters  on  each 
little  pair  of  legs,  and  worsted  mittens  on  their  hands,  and 
gave  them  a  kiss  apiece,  by  way  of  a  spell  to  keep  away 
Jack  Frost.  Forth  sallied  the  two  children,  with  a  hop- 
skip-and-jump,  that  carried  them  at  once  into  the  very  heart 
of  a  huge  snow-drift,  whence  Violet  emerged  like  a  snow- 
bunting,  while  little  Peony  floundered  out  with  his  round 
face  in  full  bloom.  Then  what  a  merry  time  had  they  ! 
To  look  at  them,  frolicking  in  the  wintry  garden,  you 
would  have  thought  that  the  dark  and  pitiless  storm  had 
been  sent  for  no  other  purpose  but  to  provide  a  new  play- 
thing for  Violet  and  Peony  ;  and  that  they  themselves  had 
been  created,  as  the  snow-birds  were,  to  take  delight  only 
in  the  tempest,  and  in  the  white  mantle  which  it  spread 
over  the  earth. 

At  last,  when  they  had  frosted  one  another  all  over 
with  handfuls  of  snow,  Violet,  after  laughing  heartily  at 
little  Peony's  figure,  was  struck  with  a  new  idea. 

"  You  look  exactly  like  a  snow-image,  Peony,"  said 
she,  "  if  your  cheeks  were  not  so  red.  And  that  puts  me 

5 


THE   SNOW-IMAGE: 

in  mind  !  Let  us  make  an  image  out  of  snow, — an  image 
of  a  little  girl, — and  it  shall  be  our  sister,  and  shall  run 
about  and  play  with  us  all  winter  long.  Won't  it  be 
nice?" 

"  O,  yes !"  cried  Peony,  as  plainly  as  he  could  speak, 
for  he  was  but  a  little  boy.  "  That  will  be  nice  !  And 
mamma  shall  see  it !" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Violet ;  "  mamma  shall  see  the  new 
little  girl.  But  she  must  not  make  her  come  into  the 
warm  parlor ;  for,  you  know,  our  little  snow-sister  will  not 
love  the  warmth." 

And  forthwith  the  children  began  this  great  business 
of  making  a  snow-image  that  should  run  about;  while 
their  mother,  who  was  sitting  at  the  window  and  over- 
heard some  of  their  talk,  could  not  help  smiling  at  the 
gravity  with  which  they  set  about  it.  They  really  seemed 
to  imagine  that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  whatever  in 
creating  a  live  little  girl  out  of  the  snow.  And,  to  say 
the  truth,  if  miracles  are  ever  to  be  wrought,  it  will  be  by 
putting  our  hands  to  the  work  in  precisely  such  a  simple 
and  undoubting  frame  of  mind  as  that  in  which  Violet  and 
Peony  now  undertook  to  perform  one,  without  so  much  as 
knowing  that  it  was  a  miracle.  So  thought  the  mother  ; 
and  thought,  likewise,  that  the  new  snow,  just  fallen  from 


A   CHILDISH   MIRACLE. 


heaven,  would  be  excellent  material  to  make  new  beings 
of,  if  it  were  not  so  very  cold.  She  gazed  at  the  children 
a  moment  longer,  delighting  to  watch  their  little  figures, — 
the  girl,  tall  for  her  age,  graceful  and  agile,  and  so  deli- 
cately colored,  that  she  looked  like  a  cheerful  thought, 
more  than  a  physical  reality, — while  Peony  expanded  in 
breadth  rather  than  height,  and  rolled  along  on  his  short 
and  sturdy  legs,  as  substantial  as  an  elephant,  though  not 
quite  so  big.  Then  the  mother  resumed  her  work.  What 
it  was  I  forget;  but  she  was  either  trimming  a  silken 
bonnet  for  Yiolet,  or  darning  a  pair  of  stockings  for  little 
Peony's  short  legs.  Again,  however,  and  again,  and  yet 
other  agains,  she  could  not  help  turning  her  head  to  the 
window,  to  see  how  the  children  got  on  with  their  snow- 
image. 

Indeed,  it  was  an  exceedingly  pleasant  sight,  those 
bright  little  souls  at  their  tasks  !  Moreover,  it  was  really 
wonderful  to  observe  how  knowingly  and  skilfully  they 
managed  the  matter.  Violet  assumed  the  chief  direction, 
and  told  Peony  what  to  do,  while,  with  her  own  delicate 
fingers,  she  shaped  out  all  the  nicer  parts  of  the  snow- 
figure.  It  seemed,  in  fact,  not  so  much  to  be  made  by  the 
children,  as  to  grow  up  under  their  hands,  while  they  were 
playing  and  prattling  about  it  Their  mother  was  quite 


THE  SXOW-IMAGE: 

surprised  at  this ;  and  the  longer  she  looked,  the  more 
and  more  surprised  she  grew. 

"  What  remarkable  children  mine  are !"  thought  she, 
smiling  with  a  mother's  pride  ;  and  smiling  at  herself,  too, 
for  being  so  proud  of  them.  "  What  other  children  could 
have  made  any  thing  so  like  a  little  girl's  figure  out  of 
snow,  at  the  first  trial  ?  Well ; — but  now  I  must  finish 
Peony's  new  frock,  for  his  grandfather  is  coming  to- 
morrow, and  I  want  the  little  fellow  to  look  handsome." 

So  she  took  up  the  frock,  and  was  soon  as  busily  at 
work  again  with  her  needle  as  the  two  children  with  their 
snow-image.  But  still,  as  the  needle  travelled  hither  and 
thither  through  the  seams  of  the  dress,  the  mother  made 
her  toil  light  and  happy  by  listening  to  the  airy  voices  of 
Violet  and  Peony.  They  kept  talking  to  one  another  all 
the  time,  their  tongues  being  quite  as  active  as  their  feet 
and  hands.  Except  at  intervals,  she  could  not  distinctly 
hear  what  was  said,  but  had  merely  a  sweet  impression 
that  they  were  in  a  most  loving  mood,  and  were  enjoying 
themselves  highly,  and  that  the  business  of  making  the 
snow-image  went  prosperously  on.  Now  and  then,  how- 
ever, when  Violet  and  Peony  happened  to  raise  their 
voices,  the  words  were  as  audible  as  if  they  had  been 
spoken  in  the  very  parlor,  where  the  mother  sat.  O,  how 


A  CHILDISH   MIRACLE. 


delightfully  those  words  echoed  in  her  heart,  even  though 
they  meant  nothing  so  very  wise  or  wonderful,  after  all ! 

But  you  must  know  a  mother  listens  with  her  heart, 
much  more  than  with  her  ears ;  and  thus  she  is  often 
delighted  with  the  trills  of  celestial  music,  when  other 
people  can  hear  nothing  of  the  kind. 

"  Peony,  Peony  !"  cried  Violet  to  her  brother,  who  had 
gone  to  another  part  of  the  garden,  "  bring  me  some  of 
that  fresh  snow,  Peony,  from  the  very  furthest  corner, 
where  we  have  not  been  trampling.  I  want  it  to  shape  our 
little  snow-sister's  bosom  with.  You  know  that  part  must 
be  quite  pure,  just  as  it  came  out  of  the  sky !" 

"Here  it  is,  Violet!"  answered  Peony,  in  his  bluff 
tone,  but  a  very  sweet  tone,  too, — as  he  came  floundering 
through  the  half-trodden  drifts.  "  Here  is  the  snow  for 
her  little  bosom.  0,  Violet,  how  beau-ti-ful  she  begins  to 
look !" 

"  Yes,"  said  Violet,  thoughtfully  and  quietly ;  "  our 
snow-sister  does  look  very  lovely.  I  did  not  quite  know, 
Peony,  that  we  could  make  such  a  sweet  little  girl  as 
this." 

The  mother,  as  she  listened,  thought  how  fit  and  delight- 
ful an  incident  it  would  be,  if  fairies,  or,  still  better,  if 
angel-children  were  to  come  from  paradise,  and  play  in- 


THE   SISTOW-IMAGE: 

visibly  with  her  own  darlings,  and  help  them  to  make 
their  snow-image,  giving  it  the  features  of  celestial  baby- 
hood !  Violet  and  Peony  would  not  be  aware  of  their  im- 
mortal playmates, — only  they  would  see  that  the  image 
grew  very  beautiful  while  they  worked  at  it,  and  would 
think  that  they  themselves  had  done  it  all. 

"My  little  girl  and  boy  deserve  such  playmates,  if 
mortal  children  ever  did !"  said  the  mother  to  herself;  and 
then  she  smiled  again  at  her  own  motherly  pride. 

Nevertheless,  the  idea  seized  upon  her  imagination ; 
and,  ever  and  anon,  she  took  a  glimpse  out  of  the  window, 
half  dreaming  that  she  might  see  the  golden-haired  chil- 
dren of  paradise  sporting  with  her  own  golden-haired 
Violet  and  bright-cheeked  Peony. 

Now,  for  a  few  moments,  there  was  a  busy  and  earnest, 
but  indistinct  hum  of  the  two  children's  voices,  as  Violet 
and  Peony  wrought  together  with  one  happy  consent 
Violet  still  seemed  to  be  the  guiding  spirit ;  while  Peony 
acted  rather  as  a  laborer,  and  brought  her  the  snow  from 
far  and  near.  And  yet  the  little  urchin  evidently  had  a 
proper  understanding  of  the  matter,  too  ! 

"Peony,  Peony!"  cried  Violet;  for  her  brother  was 
again  at  the  other  side  of  the  garden,  "  bring  me  those 

light  wreaths  of   snow  that  have    rested    on   the   lower 
10 


A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


branches  of  the  pear-tree.  You  can  clamber  on  the  snow- 
drift, Peony,  and  reach  them  easily.  I  must  have  them  to 
make  some  ringlets  for  our  snow-sister's  head  1" 

"Here  they  are,  Violet!"  answered  the  little  boy. 
"  Take  care  you  do  not  break  them.  Well  done  1  Well 
done !  How  pretty  !" 

"Does  she  not  look  sweetly ?"  said  Yiolet,  with  a  very 
satisfied  tone;  "and  now  we  must  have  some  little 
shining  bits  of  ice,  to  make  the  brightness  of  her  eyes. 
She  is  not  finished  yet.  Mamma  will  see  how  very  beauti- 
ful she  is ;  but  papa  will  say,  '  Tush  !  nonsense  ! — come  in 
out  of  the  cold !'" 

"  Let  us  call  mamma  to  look  out,"  said  Peony ;  and 
then  he  shouted  lustily,  "Mamma!  mamma!!  mamma!!! 
Look  out,  and  see  what  a  nice  'ittle  girl  we  are  making !" 

The  mother  put  down  her  work,  for  an  instant,  and 
looked  out  of  the  window.  But  it  so  happened  that  the 
sun — for  this  was  one  of  the  shortest  days  of  the  whole 
year — had  sunken  so  nearly  to  the  edge  of  the  world,  that 
his  setting  shine  came  obliquely  into  the  lady's  eyes.  So 
she  was  dazzled,  you  must  understand,  and  could  not  very 
distinctly  observe  what  was  in  the  garden.  Still,  how- 
ever, through  all  that  bright,  blinding  da/zle  of  the  sun 
and  the  new  snow,  she  beheld  a  small  white  figure  in  the 


THE 


garden,  that  seemed  to  have  a  wonderful  deal  of  Imman 
likeness  about  it.  And  she  saw  Violet  and  Peony, — in- 
deed, she  looked  more  at  them  than  at  the  image, — she 
saw  the  two  children  still  at  work  ;  Peony  bringing  fresh 
snow,  and  Violet  applying  it  to  the  figure  as  scientifically 
as  a  sculptor  adds  clay  to  his  model.  Indistinctly  as  she 
discerned  the  snow-child,  the  mother  thought  to  herseli 
that  never  before  was  there  a  snow-figure  so  cunningly 
made,  nor  ever  such  a  dear  little  girl  and  boy  to  make  it. 

"  They  do  every  thing  better  than  other  children,"  said 
she,  very  complacently.  "No  wonder  they  make  better 
snow-images !" 

She  sat  down  again  to  her  work,  and  made  as  much 
haste  with  it  as  possible;  because  twilight  would  soon 
come,  and  Peony's  frock  was  not  yet  finished,  and  grand- 
father was  expected,  by  railroad,  pretty  early  in  the  morn- 
ing. Faster  and  faster,  therefore,  went  her  flying  fingers. 
The  children,  likewise,  kept  busily  at  work  in  the  garden, 
and  still  the  mother  listened,  whenever  she  could  catch 
a  word.  She  was  amused  to  observe  how  their  little 
imaginations  had  got  mixed  up  with  what  they  were 
doing,  and  were  carried  away  by  it.  They  seemed  posi- 
tively to  think  that  the  snow-child  would  run  about  and 
play  with  them. 


A   CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


"  What  a  nice  playmate  she  will  be  for  us,  all  winter 
long !"  said  Violet.  "  I  hope  papa  will  not  be  afraid  of 
her  giving  us  a  cold !  Shan't  you  love  her  dearly, 
Peony?" 

"  O,  yes  !"  cried  Peony.  "  And  I  will  hug  her,  and  she 
shall  sit  down  close  by  me,  and  drink  some  of  my  warm 
milk !" 

"  0  no,  Peony !"  answered  Violet,  with  grave  wisdom. 
"  That  will  not  do  at  all.  Warm  milk  will  not  be  whole- 
some for  our  little  snow-sister.  Little  snow -people,  like 
her,  eat  nothing  but  icicles.  No,  no,  Peony  ;  we  must  not 
give  her  any  thing  warm  to  drink  !" 

There  was  a  minute  or  two  of  silence  ;  for  Peony,  whose 
short  legs  were  never  weary,  had  gone  on  a  pilgrimage 
again  to  the  other  side  of  the  garden.  All  of  a  sudden, 
Violet  cried  out,  loudly  and  joyfully, 

"  Look  here,  Peony  !  Come  quickly !  A  light  has  been 
shining  on  her  cheek  out  of  that  rose-colored  cloud !  and 
the  color  does  not  go  away !  Is  not  that  beautiful  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  beau-ti-ful,"  answered  Peony,  pronouncing 
the  three  syllables  with  deliberate  accuracy.  "  0,  Violet, 
only  look  at  her  hair  !  it  is  all  like  gold!" 

"  0,  certainly,"  said  Violet,  with  tranquillity,  as  if  it 
were  very  much  a  matter  of  course.  "  That  color,  you 

13 


THE  SNOW-IMAGE: 

know,  comes  from  the  golden  clouds,  that  we  see  up  there 
in  the  sky.  She  is  almost  finished  now.  But  her  lips 
must  be  made  very  red, — redder  than  her  cheeks.  Perhaps, 
Peony,  it  will  make  them  red,  if  we  both  kiss  them !" 

Accordingly,  the  mother  heard  two  smart  little  smacks, 
as  if  both  her  children  were  kissing  the  snow-image  on 
its  frozen  mouth.  But,  as  this  did  not  seem  to  make  the 
lips  quite  red  enough,  Violet  next  proposed  that  the  snow- 
child  should  be  invited  to  kiss  Peony's  scarlet  cheek. 

"  Come,  'ittle  snow-sister,  kiss  me  !"  cried  Peony. 

"There!  she  has  kissed  you,"  added  Violet,  "and  now 
her  lips  are  very  red.  And  she  blushed  a  little,  too  !" 

"O,  what  a  cold  kiss !"  cried  Peony. 

Just  then  there  came  a  breeze  of  the  pure  west  wind, 
sweeping  through  the  garden  and  rattling  the  parlor 
windows.  It  sounded  so  wintry  cold,  that  the  mother 
was  about  to  tap  on  the  window-pane  with  her  thimbled 
finger,  to  summon  the  two  children  in,  when  they  both 
cried  out  to  her  with  one  voice.  The  tone  was  not  a  tone 
of  surprise,  although  they  were  evidently  a  good  deal 
excited ;  it  appeared  rather  as  if  they  were  very  much 
rejoiced  at  some  event  that  had  now  happened,  but  which 
they  had  been  looking  for,  and  had  reckoned  upon  all 
along. 

u 


A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


"  Mamma  !  mamma !  We  have  finished  our  little  snow 
sister,  and  she  is  running  about  the  garden  with  us  !" 

"  What  imaginative  little  beings  my  children  are !'' 
thought  the  mother,  putting  the  last  few  stitches  into 
Peony's  frock.  "  And  it  is  strange,  too,  that  they  make 
me  almost  as  much  a  child  as  they  themselves  are  !  I  can 
hardly  help  believing,  now,  that  the  snow-image  has  really 
come  to  life !" 

"  Dear  mamma  !"  cried  Violet,  "pray  look  out,  and  see 
what  a  sweet  playmate  we  have  !" 

The  mother,  being  thus  entreated,  could  no  longer  delay 
to  look  forth  from  the  window.  The  sun  was  now  gone 
out  of  the  sky,  leaving,  however,  a  rich  inheritance  of  his 
brightness  among  those  purple  and  golden  clouds  which 
make  the  sunsets  of  winter  so  magnificent  But  there  was 
not  the  slightest  gleam  or  dazzle,  either  on  the  window  or 
on  the  snow ;  so  that  the  good  lady  could  look  all  over 
the  garden,  and  see  every  thing  and  everybody  in  it. 
And  what  do  you  think  she  saw  there?  Violet  and 
Peony,  of  course,  her  own  two  darling  children.  Ah,  but 
whom  or  what  did  she  besides  ?  Why,  if  you  will  believe 
me,  there  was  a  small  figure  of  a  girl,  dressed  all  in  white, 
with  rose-tinged  cheeks  and  ringlets  of  golden  hue,  play- 
ing about  the  garden  with  the  two  children  !  A  stranger 

15 


THE   SNOW-IMAGE: 

though  she  was,  the  child  seemed  to  be  on  as  familiar 
terms  with  Violet  and  Peony,  and  they  with  her,  as  if  all 
the  three  had  been  playmates  during  the  whole  of  their 
little  lives.  The  mother  thought  to  herself  that  it  must 
certainly  be  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  neighbors,  and 
that,  seeing  Violet  and  Peony  in  the  garden,  the  child 
had  run  across  the  street  to  play  with  them.  So  this  kind 
lady  went  to  the  door,  intending  to  invite  the  little  run- 
away into  her  comfortable  parlor ;  for,  now  that  the  sun- 
shine was  withdrawn,  the  atmosphere,  out  of  doors,  was 
already  growing  very  cold. 

But,  after  opening  the  house  door,  she  stood  an  instant 
on  the  threshold,  hesitating  whether  she  ought  to  ask  the 
child  to  come  in,  or  whether  she  should  even  speak  to  her. 
Indeed,  she  almost  doubted  whether  it  were  a  real  child, 
after  all,  or  only  a  light  wreath  of  the  new-fallen  snow, 
blown  hither  and  thither  about  the  garden  by  the  intensely 
cold  west  wind.  There  was  certainly  something  very 
singular  in  the  aspect  of  the  little  stranger.  Among  all 
the  children  of  the  neighborhood,  the  lady  could  remember 
no  such  face,  with  its  pure  white,  and  delicate  rose-color, 
and  the  golden  ringlets  tossing  about  the  forehead  and 
cheeks.  And  as  for  her  dress,  which  was  entirely  of 
white,  and  fluttering  in  the  breeze,  it  was  such  as  no  rea- 


A  CHILDISH  MIKACLE. 


sonable  woman  would  put  upon  a  little  girl,  when  sending 
her  out  to  play,  in  the  depth  of  winter.  It  made  this  kind 
and  careful  mother  shiver  only  to  look  at  those  small  feet, 
with  nothing  in  the  world  on  them,  except  a  very  thin  pair 
of  white  slippers.  Nevertheless,  airily  as  she  was  clad,  the 
child  seemed  to  feel  not  the  slightest  inconvenience  from 
the  cold,  but  danced  so  lightly  over  the  snow,  that  the 
tips  of  her  toes  left  hardly  a  print  in  its  surface ;  while 
Violet  could  but  just  keep  pace  with  her,  and  Peony's 
short  legs  compelled  him  to  lag  behind. 

Once,  in  the  course  of  their  play,  the  strange  child 
placed  herself  between  Violet  and  Peony,  and  taking  a 
hand  of  each,  skipped  merrily  forward,  and  they  along 
with  her.  Almost  immediately,  however,  Peony  pulled 
away  his  little  fist,  and  began  to  rub  it  as  if  the  fingers 
were  tingling  with  cold ;  while  Violet  also  released  herself, 
though  with  less  abruptness,  gravely  remarking  that  it 
was  better  not  to  take  hold  of  hands.  The  white-robed 
damsel  said  not  a  word,  but  danced  about  just  as  merrily 
as  before.  If  Violet  and  Peony  did  not  choose  to  play 
with  her,  she  could  make  just  as  good  a  playmate  of  the 
brisk  and  cold  west  wind,  which  kept  blowing  her  all 
about  the  garden,  and  took  such  liberties  with  her,  that 
they  seemed  to  have  been  friends  for  a  long  time.  All 


THE  SNOW-IMAGE: 

this  while,  the  mother  stood  on  the  threshold,  wondering 
how  a  little  girl  could  look  so  much  like  a  flying  snow- 
drift, or  how  a  snow-drift  could  look  so  very  like  a  little 
girl. 

She  called  Violet,  and  whispered  to  her. 

"  Violet,  my  darling,  what  is  this  child's  name  ?"  asked 
she.  "  Does  she  live  near  us  ?" 

"  Why,  dearest  mamma,"  answered  Violet,  laughing  to 
think  that  her  mother  did  not  comprehend  so  very  plain 
an  affair,  "this  is  our  little  snow-sister,  whom  we  have  just 
been  making  I" 

"Yes,  dear  mamma,"  cried  Peony,  running  to  his 
mother,  and  looking  up  simply  into  her  face.  "  This  is 
our  snow-image !  Is  it  not  a  nice  'ittle  child  ?" 

At  this  instant  a  flock  of  snow-birds  came  flitting 
through  the  air.  As  was  very  natural,  they  avoided  Vio- 
let and  Peony.  But, — and  this  looked  strange, — they  flew 
at  once  to  the  white-robed  child,  fluttered  eagerly  about 
her  head,  alighted  on  her  shoulders,  and  seemed  to  claim 
her  as  an  old  acquaintance.  She,  on  her  part,  was  evi- 
dently as  glad  to  see  these  little  birds,  old  Winter's  grand- 
children, as  they  were  to  see  her,  and  welcomed  them  by 
holding  out  both  her  hands.  Hereupon,  they  each  and  all 

tried  to  alight  on   her  two  palms  and  ten  small  fingers  and 
18 


A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


thumbs,  crowding  one  another  off,  with  an  immense  flut- 
tering of  their  tiny  wings.  One  dear  little  bird  nestled 
tenderly  in  her  bosom ;  another  put  its  bill  to  her  lips. 
They  were  as  joyous,  all  the  while  and,  seemed  as  much  in 
their  element,  as  you  may  have  seen  them  when  sporting 
with  a  snow-storm. 

Violet  and  Peony  stood  laughing  at  this  pretty  sight ; 
for  they  enjoyed  the  merry  time  which  their  new  play- 
mate was  having  with  these  small- winged  visitants,  almost 
as  much  as  if  they  themselves  took  part  in  it. 

"  Violet,"  said  her  mother,  greatly  perplexed,  "  tell  me 
the  truth,  without  any  jest.  Who  is  this  little  girl  ?" 

"  My  darling  mamma,"  answered  Violet,  looking  seri- 
ously into  her  mother's  face,  and  apparently  surprised  that 
she  should  need  any  further  explanation,  "  I  have  told  you 
truly  who  she  is.  It  is  our  little  snow-image,  which  Peony 
and  I  have  been  making.  Peony  will  tell  you  so,  as  well 
as  I." 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  asseverated  Peony,  with  much  gravity 
in  his  crimson  little  phiz ;  "  this  is  'ittle  snow-child.  Is  not 
she  a  nice  one  ?  But,  mamma,  her  hand  is,  oh,  so  very 
cold!" 

While  mamma  still  hesitated  what  to  think  and  what  to 
do,  the  street-gate  was  thrown  open,  and  the  father  of  Vio- 

19 


THE  SNOW  -I  M  AGE: 

let  and  Peony  appeared,  wrapped  in  a  pilot-cloth  sack,  with 
a  fur  cap  drawn  down  over  his  ears,  and  the  thickest  of 
gloves  upon  his  hands.  Mr.  Lindsey  was  a  middle-aged 
man,  with  a  weary  and  yet  a  happy  look  in  his  wind -flushed 
and  frost-pinched  face,  as  if  he  had  been  busy  all  the  day 
long,  and  was  glad  to  get  back  to  his  quiet  home.  His  eyes 
brightened  at  the  sight  of  his  wife  and  children,  although 
he  could  not  help  uttering  a  word  or  two  of  surprise,  at  find- 
ing the  whole  family  in  the  open  air,  on  so  bleak  a  day, 
and  after  sunset  too.  He  soon  perceived  the  little  white 
stranger,  sporting  to  and  fro  in  the  garden,  like  a  dancing 
snow-wreath,  and  the  flock  of  snow-birds  fluttering  about 
her  head. 

"Pray,  what  little  girl  may  that  be  ?"  inquired  this  very 
sensible  man.  "  Surely  her  mother  must  be  crazy,  to  let 
her  go  out  in  such  bitter  weather  as  it  has  been  to-day, 
with  only  that  flimsy  white  gown,  and  those  thin  slippers !" 

"My  dear  husband,"  said  his  wife,  "I  know  no  more 
about  the  little  thing  than  you  do.  Some  neighbor's  child. 
I  suppose.  Our  Violet  and  Peony,"  she  added,  laughing 
at  herself  for  repeating  so  absurd  a  story,  "insist  that  she 
is  nothing  but  a  snow-image,  which  they  have  been  busy 
about  in  the  garden,  almost  all  the  afternoon." 

As  she  said  this,  the  mother  glanced  her  eyes  toward 
20 


A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


the  spot  where  the  children's  snow-image  had  been  made. 
AVhat  was  her  surprise,  on  perceiving  that  there  was  not 
the  slightest  trace  of  so  much  labor  ! — no  image  at  all ! — 
no  piled-up  heap  of  snow  ! — nothing  whatever,  save  the 
prints  of  little  footsteps  around  a  vacant  space ! 

"  This  is  very  strange  !"  said  she. 

"What  is  strange,  dear  mother?"  asked  Violet.  "Dear 
father,  do  not  you  see  how  it  is?  This  is  our  snow-image, 
which  Peony  and  I  have  made,  because  we  wanted  another 
playmate.  Did  not  we,  Peony?" 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  crimson  Peony.  "  This  be  our  'ittle 
snow-sister.  Is  she  not  beau-ti-ful?  But  she  gave  me 
such  a  cold  kiss  !" 

"Poh,  nonsense,  children!"  cried  their  good,  honest 
father,  who,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  had  an  exceed- 
ingly common-sensible  way  of  looking  at  matters.  "Do. 
not  tell  me  of  making  live  figures  out  of  snow.  Come, 
wife ;  this  little  stranger  must  not  stay  out  in  the  bleak 
air  a  moment  longer.  We  will  bring  her  into  the  parlor; 
and  you  shall  give  her  a  supper  of  warm  bread  and  milk, 
and  make  her  as  comfortable  as  you  can.  Meanwhile, 
I  will  inquire  among  the  neighbors;  or,  if  necessary, 
send  the  city-crier  about  the  streets,  to  give  notice  of  a 

lost  child." 

21 


THE  SNOW-IMAGE: 

So  saying,  this  honest  and  very  kind-hearted  man  -was 
going  toward  the  little  white  damsel,  with  the  best  inten- 
tions in  the  world.  But  Violet  and  Peony,  each  seizing 
their  father  by  the  hand,  earnestly  besought  him  not  to 
make  her  come  in. 

"Dear  father,"  cried  Yiolet,  putting  herself  before  him, 
"  it  is  true  what  I  have  been  telling  you !  This  is  our 
little  snow-girl,  and  she  cannot  live  any  longer  than  while 
she  breathes  the  cold  west  wind.  Do  not  make  her  come 
into  the  hot  room  !" 

"Yes,  father,"  shouted  Peony,  stamping  his  little  foot, 
so  mightily  was  he  in  earnest,  "  this  be  nothing  but  our 
'ittle  snow-child  !  She  will  not  love  the  hot  fire !" 

"Nonsense,  children,  nonsense,  nonsense!"  cried  the 
father,  half  vexed,  half  laughing  at  what  he  considered 
their  foolish  obstinacy.  "  Eun  into  the  house,  this  mo- 
ment !  It  is  too  late  to  play  any  longer  now.  I  must 
take  care  of  this  little  girl  immediately,  or  she  will  catch 
her  death-a-cold !" 

"  Husband  !  dear  husband !"  said  his  wife,  in  a  low 
voice, — for  she  had  been  looking  narrowly  at  the  snow- 
child,  and  was  more  perplexed  than  ever, — "there  is 
something  very  singular  in  all  this.  You  will  think  me 
foolish, — but — but — may  it  not  be  that  some  invisible 


A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


angel  has  been  attracted  by  the  simplicity  and  good  faitli 
with  which  our  children  set  about  their  undertaking? 
May  he  not  have  spent  an  hour  of  his  immortality  in 
playing  with  those  dear  little  souls  ?  and  so  the  result  is 
what  we  call  a  miracle.  No,  no  !  Do  not  laugh  at  me ;  I 
see  what  a  foolish  thought  it  is !" 

'"My  dear  wife,"  replied  the  husband,  laughing  heartily, 
"you  are  as  much  a  child  as  Violet  and  Peony." 

And  in  one  sense  so  she  was,  for  all  through  life  she 
had  kept  her  heart  full  of  childlike  simplicity  and  faith, 
which  was  as  pure  and  clear  as  crystal ;  and,  looking  at  all 
matters  through  this  transparent  medium,  she  sometimes 
saw  truths  so  profound,  that  other  people  laughed  at  them 
as  nonsense  and  absurdity. 

But  now  kind  Mr.  Lindsey  had  entered  the  garden, 
breaking  away  from  his  two  children,  who  still  sent  their 
shrill  voices  after  him,  beseeching  him  to  let  the  snow- 
child  stay  and  enjoy  herself  in  the  cold  west  wind.  As  he 
approached,  the  snow-birds  took  to  flight.  The  little  white 
damsel,  also,  fled  backward,  shaking  her  head,  as  if  to  say, 
u  Pray,  do  not  touch  me !"  and  roguishly,  as  it  appeared, 
leading  him  through  the  deepest  of  the  snow.  Once,  the 
good  man  stumbled,  and  floundered  down  upon  his  face, 
so  that,  gathering  himself  up  again,  with  the  snow  sticking 


THE  SNOW-IMAGE: 

to  his  rough  pilot-cloth  sack,  he  looked  as  white  and  win- 
try as  a  snow-image  of  the  largest  size.  Some  of  the 
neighbors,  meanwhile,  seeing  him  from  their  windows, 
wondered  what  could  possess  poor  Mr.  Lindsey  to  be  run- 
ning about  his  garden  in  pursuit  of  a  snow-drift,  which  the 
west  wind  was  driving  hither  and  thither !  At  length, 
after  a  vast  deal  of  trouble,  he  chased  the  little  stranger 
in  a  corner,  where  she  could  not  possibly  escape  him. 
His  wife  had  been  looking  on,  and,  it  being  nearly  twi- 
light, was  wonderstruck  to  observe  how  the  snow-child 
gleamed  and  sparkled,  and  how  she  seemed  to  shed  a  glow 
all  round  about  her ;  and  when  driven  into  the  corner,  she 
positively  glistened  like  a  star !  It  was  a  frosty  kind  of 
brightness,  too,  like  that  of  an  icicle  in  the  moonlight. 
The  wife  thought  it  strange  that  good  Mr.  Lindsey  should 
see  nothing  remarkable  in  the  snow-child's  appearance. 

"  Come,  you  odd  little  thing !"  cried  the  honest  man, 
seizing  her  by  the  hand,  <(  I  have  caught  you  at  last,  and 
will  make  you  comfortable  in  spite  of  yourself.  We  will 
put  a  nice  warm  pair  of  worsted  stockings  on  your  frozen 
little  feet,  and  you  shall  have  a  good  thick  shawl  to  wrap 
yourself  in.  Your  poor  white  nose,  I  am  afraid,  is  actually 
frost-bitten.  But  we  will  make  it  all  right.  Come  along 


A  CHILDISH  MIKACLE. 


And  so,  with  a  most  benevolent  srnile  on  his  sagacious 
visage,  all  purple  as  it  was  with  the  cold,  this  very  well- 
meaning  gentleman  took  the  snow-child  by  the  hand,  and 
led  her  towards  the  house.  She  followed  him,  droopingly 
and  reluctant ;  for  all  the  glow  and  sparkle  was  gone  out 
of  her  figure  ;  and  whereas  just  before  she  had  resembled 
a  bright,  frosty,  star-gemmed  evening,  with  a  crimson 
gleam  on  the  cold  horizon,  she  now  looked  as  dull  and 
languid  as  a  thaw.  As  kind  Mr.  Lindsey  led  her  up  the 
steps  of  the  door,  Violet  and  Peony  looked  into  his  face, — 
their  eyes  full  of  tears,  which  froze  before  they  could  run 
down  their  cheeks, — and  again  entreated  him  not  to  bring 
their  snow-image  into  the  house. 

"Not  bring  her  in  1"  exclaimed  the  kind-hearted  man. 
"  "Why,  you  are  crazy,  my  little  Violet ! — quite  crazy,  my 
small  Peony  !  She  is  so  cold,  already,  that  her  hand  has 
almost  frozen  mine,  in  spite  of  my  thick  gloves.  Would 
you  have  her  freeze  to  death  ?" 

His  wife,  as  he  came  up  the  steps,  had  been  taking  an- 
other long,  earnest,  almost  awe-stricken  gaze  at  the  little 
white  stranger.  She  hardly  knew  whether  it  was  a  dream 
or  no ;  but  she  could  not  help  fancying  that  she  saw  the 
delicate  print  of  Violet's  fingers  on  the  child's  neck.  It 
looked  just  as  if,  while  Violet  was  shaping  out  the  image, 


THE  SNOW-IMAGE: 

she  had  given  it  a  gentle  pat  with,  her  hand,  and  had  neg- 
lected to  smooth  the  impression  quite  away. 

"  After  all,  husband,"  said  the  mother,  recurring  to  her 
idea  that  the  angels  would  be  as  much  delighted  to  play 
with  Violet  and  Peony  as  she  herself  was,  "  after  all,  sho 
does  look  strangely  like  a  snow-image !  I  do  believe  she 
is  made  of  snow  !" 

A  puff  of  the  west  wind  blew  against  the  snow-child, 
and  again  she  sparkled  like  a  star. 

"  Snow  !"  repeated  good  Mr.  Lindsey,  drawing  the  reluc- 
tant guest  over  his  hospitable  threshold.  "  No  wonder  she 
looks  like  snow.  She  is  half  frozen,  poor  little  thing ! 
But  a  good  fire  will  put  every  thing  to  rights." 

Without  further  talk,  and  always  with  the  same  best 
intentions,  this  highly  benevolent  and  common-sensible 
individual  led  the  little  white  damsel — drooping,  drooping, 
drooping,  more  and  more — out  of  the  frosty  air,  and  into 
his  comfortable  parlor.  A  Heidenberg  stove,  filled  to  the 
brim  with,  intensely  burning  anthracite,  was  sending  a 
bright  gleam  through  the  isinglass  of  its  iron  door,  and 
causing  the  vase  of  water  on  its  top  to  fume  and  bub- 
ble with  excitement.  A  warm,  sultry  smell  was  diffused 
throughout  the  room.  A  thermometer  on  the  wall  furthest 
from  the  stove  stood  at  eighty  degrees.  The  parlor  was 


A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


hung  with  red  curtains,  and  covered  with  a  red  carpet,  and 
looked  just  as  warm  as  it  felt  The  difference  betwixt  the 
atmosphere  here  and  the  cold,  wintry  twilight  out  of  doors, 
was  like  stepping  at  once  from  Nova  Zembla  to  the  hottest 
part  of  India,  or  from  the  North  Pole  into  an  oven.  O, 
this  was  a  line  place  for  the  little  white  stranger! 

The  common-sensible  man  placed  the  snow-child  on 
the  hearth-rag,  right  in  front  of  the  hissing  and  fuming 
stove. 

"Now  she  will  be  comfortable!"  cried  Mr.  Lind?ey, 
rubbing  his  hands  and  looking  about  him,  with  the  plcas- 
antest  smile  you  ever  saw.  "  Make  yourself  at  home,  my 
child." 

Sad,  sad  and  drooping,  looked  the  little  white  maiden, 
as  she  stood  on  the  hearth-rug,  with  the  hot  blast  of  the 
stove  striking  through  her  like  a  pestilence.  Once,  she 
threw  a  glance  wistfully  toward  the  windows,  and  caught  a 
glimpse,  through  its  red  curtains,  of  the  snow-covered 
roofs,  and  the  stars  glimmer  ing  frostily,  and  all  the  delicious 
intensity  of  the  cold  night.  The  bleak  wind  rattled  the 
window-panes,  as  if  it  were  summoning  her  to  come  forth. 
But  there  stood  the  snow-child,  drooping,  before  the  hot 
stove ! 

But  the  common-sensible  man  saw  nothing  amiss. 


THE  SXOW-IMAGE: 

"  Come,  wife,"  said  he,  "  let  her  have  a  pair  of  thick 
stockings  and  a  woollen  shawl  or  blanket  directly ;  and  tell 
Dora  to  give  her  some  warm  supper  as  soon  as  the  milk 
boils.  You,  Violet  and  Peony,  amuse  your  little  friend. 
She  is  out  of  spirits,  you  see,  at  finding  herself  in  a  strange 
place.  For  my  part,  I  will  go  around  among  the  neigh~ 
bors,  and  find  out  where  she  belongs." 

The  mother,  meanwhile,  had  gone  in  search  of  the  shawl 
and  stockings ;  for  her  own  view  of  the  matter,  however 
subtle  and  delicate,  had  given  way,  as  it  always  did,  to  the 
stubborn  materialism  of  her  husband.  Without  heeding 
the  remonstrances  of  his  two  children,  who  still  kept 
murmuring  that  their  little  snow-sister  did  not  love  the 
warmth,  good  Mr.  Lindsey  took  his  departure,  shutting 
the  parlor  door  carefully  behind  him.  Turning  up  the 
collar  of  his  sack  over  his  ears,  he  emerged  from  the  house, 
and  had  barely  reached  the  street-gate,  when  he  was 
recalled  by  the  screams  of  Violet  and  Peony,  and  the 
rapping  of  a  thimbled  finger  against  the  parlor  window. 

"Husband!  husband!"  cried  his  wife,  showing  her 
horror-stricken  face  through  the  window-panes.  "There 
is  no  need  of  going  for  the  child's  parents !" 

"We  told  you  so,  father!"  screamed  Violet  and  Peony, 
as  he  re-entered  the  parlor.  "You  would  bring  her  in; 

28 


A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


and  now  our  poor — dear — beau-ti-ful  little  snow-sister  is 
thawed !" 

And  their  own  sweet  little  faces  were  already  dissolved 
in  tears ;  so  that  their  father,  seeing  what  strange  things 
occasionally  happen  in  this  every  day  world,  felt  not  a 
little  anxious  lest  his  children  might  he  going  to  thaw  too  ! 
In  the  utmost  perplexity,  he  demanded  an  explanation  of 
his  wife.  She  could  only  reply,  that,  being  summoned  to 
the  parlor  by  the  cries  of  Violet  and  Peony,  she  foiind  no 
trace  of  the  little  white  maiden,  unless  it  were  the  remains 
of  a  heap  of  snow,  which,  while  she  was  gazing  at  it, 
melted  quite  away  upon  the  hearth-rug. 

"And  there  you  see  all  that  is  left  of  it!"  added  she, 
pointing  to  a  pool  of  water,  in  front  of  the  stove. 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  Violet,  looking  reproachfully  at  him, 
through  her  tears,  "there  is  all  that  is  left  of  our  dear 
little  snow-sister  1" 

"Naughty  father!"  cried  Peony,  stamping  his  foot,  and 
— I  shudder  to  say — shaking  his  little  fist  at  the  common- 
sensible  man,  "  we  told  you  how  it  would  be.  What  for 
did  you  bring  her  in?" 

And  the  Heidenberg  stove,  through  the  isinglass  of  its 
door,  seemed  to  glare  at  good  Mr.  Lindsey,  like  a  red-eyed 
demon,  triumphing  in  the  mischief  which  it  had  done ! 


THE  SNOW-IMAGE: 

This,  you  will  observe,  was  one  of  those  rare  cases,  which 
yet  will  occasionally  happen,  where  common  sense  finds 
itself  at  fault.  The  remarkable  story  of  the  snow-image, 
though  to  that  sagacious  class  of  people  to  whom  good 
Mr.  Lindsey  belongs  it  may  seem  bat  a,  childish  affair, 
is,  nevertheless,  capable  of  being  moralized  in  various 
methods,  greatly  for  their  edification.  One  of  its  lessons, 
for  instance,  might  be,  that  it  behooves  men,  and  especially 
men  of  benevolence,  to  consider  well  what  they  are  about, 
and,  before  acting  on  their  philanthropic  purposes,  to  be 
quite  sure  that  they  comprehend  the  nature  and  all  the 
relations  of  the  business  in  hand.  What  has  been  estab- 
lished as  an  element  of  good  to  one  being,  may  prove 
absDlute  mischief  to  another;  even  as  the  warmth  of  the 
parlor  was  proper  enough  for  children  of  flesh  and  blood, 
like  Violet  and  Peony, — though  by  no  means  very  whole- 
some, even  for  them, — but  involved  nothing  short  of  anni- 
hilation to  the  unfortunate  snow-image. 

But,  after  all,  there  is  no  teaching  any  thing  to  wise 
men  of  good  Mr.  Lindsey's  stamp.  They  know  every 
thing — oh,  to  be  sure ! — every  thing  that  has  been,  and 
every  thing  that  is,  and  every  thing  that,  by  any  future 
possibilit}r,  can  be.  And,  should  some  phenomenon  of 
nature  or  providence  transcend  their  system,  they  will 


A  CHILDISH  MIRACLE. 


not  recognize  it,  even  if  it  come  to  pass  under  their  very 
noses. 

"  Wife,"  said  Mr.  Lindsey,  after  a  fit  of  silence,  "  see 
what  a  quantity  of  snow  the  children  have  brought  in  on 
their  feet!  It  has  made  quite  a  puddle  here  before  the 
stove.  Pray  tell  Dora  to  bring  some  towels  and  sop  it 


up!" 


31 


